


Clementines

by bloominglungs



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M, Fruit, Intimacy, these tags make it sound weird but i promise it isn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:55:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27109084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloominglungs/pseuds/bloominglungs
Summary: Reiner and Mikasa share some fruit and a kiss.
Relationships: Mikasa Ackerman/Reiner Braun
Comments: 17
Kudos: 50





	Clementines

**Author's Note:**

> It really is what it says in the tin, lads. 
> 
> This is an AU that happens somewhere in the future, in a universe where Reiner killed Eren. Post-canon.

The haunting howling of the wind outside didn’t seem to phase Mikasa one bit as she entertained herself with pointy objects: she called it embroidery and it had been something her mother had taught her as a child. Somehow, the tall woman, built like a tank, dark grey murderous eyes, looked almost soft for once as she attentively murmured to herself, her calloused hands working swiftly to create what seemed like a flower on a tea towel. Not that anybody else seemed phased by the horrendous weather, but Jean had commented about hating storms and Connie had agreed. They were both bunched up under a heavy woollen blanket that smelled odd but they didn’t seem to mind. The scent of the clementine in my hand made me forget about the stench of wet dog that floated around in that small cabin. Mikasa seemed to notice it too, ever so observant, because her face lit up and she stopped moving for a bit, her eyes trained on me, my hands and my clementine. Connie and Jean seemed to have fallen asleep somehow.

“Want some?”

For an Ackerman with the strength of a thousand soldiers and reflexes like a wild feline, she sure seemed dumb sometimes, with the way her eyes widened, mouth agape, like a hungry child staring at a biscuit. I couldn’t help but chuckle at her silly expression but she quickly denied my offer, going back to her embroidery. 

I thought our past gripes had been forgotten, forgiven or, at the very least, swept under the rug and that maybe we could be friends but her will was as immovable as a massive rock in the middle of the ocean. Mikasa herself was a rock, a sturdy strong dense rock. Even though her eyes were trained on the piece of cloth on her hands, they seemed glossy like a brainless fish letting the current take it straight into a shark’s mouth. She hissed quietly, taking her index finger to her mouth and licking it as if that would magically stop the bleeding. I could feel a snarky remark forming in the back of my brain but kept it to myself, unlike the chuckle that did come out as I watched her silly frown over pricking her finger on a sewing needle.

“What’s so funny?”

Mikasa shot daggers at me with both her eyes and her voice, her usual raspy low tone that would sometimes go two octaves higher whenever she was happy or excited. My amusement wasn’t shared but that didn’t stop me from smiling fondly at the tough tall woman and the mean look in her otherwise cute face. It was hard to fathom why Eren would reject someone like her, so pretty and brave, so loyal and loving. Of course, I’ve never been on the receiving end of her good qualities but I’d seen it in action with everyone else around. But I’m a traitor, I don’t deserve the friendly treatment she gives to Jean or Connie, even though she was more than happy to show that genocidal freak all the compassion in the world. I got the short end of the stick, as always, it seems. Either way, I couldn’t bring myself to not be fond of the woman, despite her hostility towards me. Even Annie and Pieck seemed to have gotten some forgiveness and respect out of her, even my annoying cousin did. Me, on the other hand, never got so much as a smile from her and she still blamed me for Carla’s death and Eren’s murderous ways. And sure, if the warriors didn’t bring down the wall in Shiganshina that day, Mikasa’s life would have been very different: Eren would have probably continued to be an irritating brat but she would maybe be able to tame him, give him one or two cute little kids, settle down…  _ Would she, though? _ He seemed to dream about freedom and life beyond the wall his entire short life.  _ Shit, why am I thinking of that idiot now? _

“Nothing’s funny,” I stated, my smile fading. “You used to like clementines when we were kids.”

This time, I was the one whose gaze averted due to the sheer weight of my own words. Maybe my liking of Mikasa came from the way she reminded me of a time before the end of the world when I was a warrior with a purpose and a will to live. She had grown taller, her features had grown more feminine and she let her hair grow out but, deep down, she was still the same iron-willed strong girl I’d met so long ago. 

“Didn’t think you’d remember something like that.”

For a second, her hands hovered over her embroidery, hesitantly, as if she was trying to convince herself she should continue her work but, for some reason, she seemed to not want to do it and just focused on a random spot, her eyes glossy like she was staring at nothing. Connie’s snoring would have made me laugh but I was too caught up in my own thoughts, the sweet citrusy scent of the clementine transporting me to a different time when I didn’t realise I carried the weight of Eren Jaeger’s fucked up life on my shoulders, nor the weight of his tragic death. 

“Well, my offer lasts for as long as this clementine exists,” I shrugged as I put the pieces of the peel on a tissue by my feet, slowly separating the fruit into individual sections, taking my sweet time in hopes the tangy, sort of sweet aroma of the fruit would soon change Mikasa’s mind. From the corner of my eye, I saw her looking at my hands, almost longingly, for just a second until she decided to just stare at her embroidery. I half expected her to play hard to get but it only took a few minutes for her to wordlessly reach her hand out. I almost made her beg but that would have been too cheesy so I merely gave her three pieces, my fingers lingering on hers a bit longer than necessary. Her hands were warm.

“Any good?”

She seemed torn between savouring the clementine like she hadn’t eaten anything like that in years -which is probably true- and shoving the whole thing in her mouth like a sweet-toothed child gorging on sweet bread. 

“Where did you get this,” she asked after finishing her pieces, too embarrassed to ask for more. Smiling, I scooched over and put another segment of the clementine in her hand, to a very small  _ thank you. _

“I bought them in the market.”

Her eyes widened as she stopped eating, a slightly mortified look on her face. Fruit, especially citrus, was incredibly expensive at the market and she knew it. I couldn’t bring myself to confess that I had bought the clementines mostly because I was aware of how much Mikasa liked them. 

“I’m an MP now, I can afford them.”

Mikasa nodded. She had juice running down the corner of her mouth and, for some reason, that sight made me feel so full that, for a minute, I almost forgot about the weight I carry within me, the weight I’ve carried for so long that has slowly become a part of my body. A grin managed to creep on her face, something I had longed to see from her for years and it was all for me. Her usually dull and pained eyes had gone bright and big in a way I hadn’t seen in a long time. 

“I wish Eren was here,” she sighed, her smile gradually disappearing. “He loves clementines too.”

My heart ached through my throat hearing her voice grow fragile whenever  _ his _ name rolled off her tongue. No amount of saccharine clementine juice could mask the smell of iron in my blood-stained hands. I didn’t deserve clemency but God, I wish she would spare me some…!  _ Bert also loved fruit. _ That thought crossed my mind without asking for permission and I could have said it out loud but, thankfully, I didn’t. Her grief was her grief and my grief was my grief. The silence which had felt comforting before had begun to sting, even with Jean and Connie snoring in the background. Mikasa’s calloused hands from years of fighting were empty yet again, the embroidery she had been working on carelessly tossed at her feet as she had given up on it. I glanced at it, noticing the design to be some sort of pale pink flower, incomplete yet bearing resemblance to a dahlia. 

Slowly, I reached for the canvas tote I had dropped in the seat next to me and took yet another clementine which I peeled with the kind care one would peel the clothes off of a lover, separating the fruit into individual segments as I had done with the previous one. Half for myself, half to shyly pass to Mikasa and feel her fingers linger on mine. She took each piece of the fruit without a word or even a breath, somehow ending up sat next to me on the loveseat, hugging her legs which were folded against her chest, looking smaller than she truly was.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, more to myself than to her but she heard me because her eyes landed on mine, sorrow painted all over her face. “I’m so sorry for killing Eren, but I did what I had t-”

My apology was interrupted by her warm hand on mine, her fingers squeezing mine like a scared child holding their mother’s hand. She had tears pooling in the corner of her eye that she forced herself to hold back. Her grip on my fingers tightened for a moment before loosening again and I couldn’t contain my urge to look at her, really look at her face, her stained cheeks, her grey eyes full of desolation, the corner of her lips pulled down in the most agonising frown I had ever seen. The trail of clementine juice from her mouth down to her chin had dried, staining her skin yellow in that area. Without thinking, I wet my thumb and brought it to her chin, gently wiping away the trail of juice, my eyes found themselves fixed on her pink lips. Mikasa didn’t move, didn’t make a sound and even those two on the other sofa seemed to stop their loud snoring and the room was swallowed by even more silence, not quite uncomfortable but not comfortable either, just plain  _ odd _ . 

“It was for the best.” 

My hand hadn’t left her face and I couldn’t bring myself to pull it away but she seemed to lean into the touch instead, her eyes closed. I hummed in agreement, my mind drifting away somewhere warm and beautiful, just like her skin and the light scent of clementine wrapped around the both of us. 

“I hope he at least told you how beautiful you are,” my lips moved against their will and it could just be the weird intimacy of the moment fogging up my brain but she truly looked more beautiful than I’ve ever remembered. Her eyes fluttered open and a blush crept up her cheeks, a small gasp escaping her lips. I was about to apologise again, the one thing I’d been doing for a while, but she stopped me before I could conjure up yet another heartfelt  _ I’m sorry.  _

“He didn’t,” she simply said, choking back tears once again but she found her composure quickly enough to remove my hand from her chin and tangle her fingers in mine, squeezing yet again as if demanding I did something. And how could I not? She tasted of citrus, the skin of her neck soft against my rough hands, her heart pulsating into my palms through her jugular. My stomach contorted and lept inside me, my lungs tying knots around my ribs. I suddenly felt all and nothing, all at once and yet, all I could really feel was the taste of her lips on mine, the way she curled her fingers into my hair.

It ended as quickly as it began, as abruptly too. Her lips seemed a bit swollen and red, as were her cheeks and her hands. I felt heat pool in the pit of my stomach and I swallowed hard, having one last look at her face before she picked up her embroidery and disappeared into another room. Surely I had been dreaming. I picked up the clementine peels wrapped in tissue, my head still spinning from what had happened just moments earlier. 

  
  


~

It had taken her a few days, but Mikasa had managed to finish her embroidery, a lovely image of a dahlia inside a simple glass vase atop a wooden table by an open window, the pale yellow curtains gently swayed by the wind. Next to it rested a few segments of clementine along with pieces of peel. She told me dahlias signified the loss of someone deeply loved. I didn’t ask her what the clementine signified.


End file.
